


Klaine Advent 2017

by vegashoods



Category: Glee
Genre: Klaine Advent 2017, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-10 05:31:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12905127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vegashoods/pseuds/vegashoods
Summary: Because I will never (ever) give up a chance to write about Klaine.





	1. Day One: Attachment

“No. No way. Over my dead body! Blaine, you can’t bring that thing in here!”

“It’s fine,” Blaine insisted, cutting off Kurt’s protests and turning his body sideways to attempt to push past him into the house. It was a wasted effort; Kurt blocked the doorway with an arm and a raised eyebrow that meant business, effectively trapping Blaine outside, bundled in a winter coat, boots, an ugly but sensible hat, and fashionable but unsensible gloves without fingers. “Come  _ on _ , Kurt! It’ll be fun! You promised that we would start new holiday traditions when we moved into this house.”

“Yeah, traditions like hanging stockings over the fireplace and ringing in the new year with sex on the countertop,” said Kurt. “Not burning a disgusting, dirty  _ tree _ that you just chopped down in the forest like some kind of ruffian.”

“Well, actually, your dad cut it down,” Blaine said, leaning against the side of the house to rest his aching arms. “And it’s only part of the tree.  _ And _ it’s not dirty! It’s pine! It’s supposed to help us have a prosperous new year.”

“Look, I know you have a weird thing about yule logs, but⸺”

“It’s not a weird thing! I just happen to like the idea behind them. And besides, the pine smells lovely. Smell it!” He lifted the log settled in his arms toward his husband’s face, and Kurt stumbled backwards, horrified, into the house, allowing Blaine the space he needed to advance inside, log and all. He kicked the door shut behind them before Kurt could shove him out of the house again and clutched the log to his chest like he might lose it otherwise; with Kurt, there was a serious concern that it would be thrown out the window if he let it out of his grasp. “It smells amazing in here, by the way. Have you been baking?”

“That could have termites in it, you know,” Kurt said matter-of-factly, shaking his head in defeat as he wandered to the kitchen. He knew better than to let Blaine change the subject--if there was an argument left, Kurt would find it, and he wouldn’t rest until he had tried it. “If there are termites, you’re paying for the damages. And I am not  _ touching _ that thing.”

Blaine trailed after him into the kitchen, still holding onto the log (he wasn’t sure when it would be safe to let it go), and sighed. “There are no  _ termites _ in my yule log. Why is it such a big deal? I’m just trying to make our first Christmas in our new house really special, and you--oh,  _ Kurt _ .”

From the doorway, he could see the results of Kurt’s holiday baking lined up on every available surface; the stovetop was cluttered with every variety of cookies imaginable, the countertops overflowed with pies and pastries, and the timer on the oven was still set for twenty minutes, one last treat baking inside. But what caught Blaine’s attention was the table in the center of the room, which Kurt had dragged out of the dining room for this occasion. It was brimming with three neatly ordered rows of identical cakes, only different if Blaine looked too close; here was one with a slightly burned inside, there was one where he hadn’t waited long enough to put frosting on and it had melted down the sides. There were nine of them in total, nine near-perfect cakes, and every one of them was in the shape of a yule log.

“I wanted to do something special for you this year,” Kurt said, smiling softly as he looked down at his creations. “And I knew you liked the idea behind it, and since I was baking anyway, I thought, ‘hey, it can’t be that hard, right?’ But none of them worked out like I wanted, and then you came home with a  _ real _ log, and it was kind of pointless for me to⸺”

“They’re amazing,” Blaine said, stepping closer to the table so he could inspect them more closely. “You made all of these for me? Is this what you’ve been doing all day?”

Kurt shrugged, cheeks tinting pink as he folded his hands behind his back. “It wasn’t that hard,” he said, though obviously it had taken more time and effort than Blaine would ever know. “And I guess we can burn that thing, if you really have your heart set on it. The real thing is probably better than a dessert, anyway.”

“Oh, trust me, it’ll burn,” Blaine promised, grinning as he held out the log as if he was a child showing off a new toy. “And it will be  _ glorious _ . But first⸺” he set the log on the floor and finished crossing the distance to Kurt, pressing their lips together in a brief but meaningful kiss⸺ “we are going to enjoy every last one of these. God, I love you! This is going to be  _ such _ a great tradition, don’t you think?”

Kurt laughed and shook his head, though Blaine knew that his bad mood had already disappeared. Even when they disagreed, he could never stay mad for long. “Don’t get too attached.”

 

(A/N: Ever since Previously Unaired Christmas, I have been  _dying_ to write something about Blaine's "obsession with yule logs" that was never expanded on. So here you go!)


	2. Day Two: Bucket

“Remind me why we agreed to this, again?” Kurt muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets and pouting as his breath swirled in a cloud around him. “It’s freezing out here.”

“You would be warmer if you would just put on a hat,” Blaine told him, “and we’re doing this for Tracey. It was in her dream, so she has to do it.”

“She’s wasting a perfectly good ice cream bucket, is what she’s doing,” Kurt protested. “And I am never wearing a  _ stocking hat _ . It would ruin my hair!”

“You know, you’re not being a very good example for your daughter,” Blaine joked, reaching his hand into Kurt’s pocket so they could interlace their fingers without risking the cold. “She’ll grow up with cold ears because her dad refuses to wear a hat.”

“She’s wearing a hat! And besides, one dad showing her how to dress reasonably in the winter is plenty.”

“Look what I made!”

A few feet away, buried in snow almost to her chest, Tracey was kneeling in front of an ice cream pail turned upside-down and filled with snow, one edge of it already cracking where she’d been careless with it on the way outside. They had been waiting for her for nearly an hour and she had made little to no progress; every time she tried to show them her creations, they either fell apart or didn’t exist at all. But now, when she struggled to stand and pulled the pail up off the ground, there was a perfect circle of hardened snow beneath it, as well as a few hair ties and coins she had thrown into the mix. “It’s a snow castle! Just like on  _ Frozen _ !”

“That’s it? I mean, I--it’s--it’s really something,” Kurt managed, plastering on a supportive smile as Tracey beamed up at him. 

“That’s  _ amazing _ , sweetie!” Blaine shouted, digging a playful elbow into Kurt’s side as he joined her on his knees in the snow, shivering slightly as his jeans made contact with the cold. “How did you do it? Tell me your secret.”

“Well, first I grabbed the bucket, and then I got some other stuff because white is boring, and then I put the snow inside . . .”

Blaine met Kurt’s eyes across the yard and quirked a questioning eyebrow, issuing a silent challenge as he half-listened to his daughter’s tutorial. Defeated, Kurt sighed and trudged to meet them in front of the one-bucket castle, smiling despite his numb ears and ruined patience. Tracey paused mid-sentence as he approached, her smile growing even larger, and threw out her arms to point out her miniature kingdom. “What do you think, daddy?”

“It’s incredible,” he said, squatting low enough to be at Tracey’s eye level but not touching his knees to the ground. Blaine would undoubtedly be sick within the next twenty-four hours, and he would need someone to bring him soup and music. “You could be a great architect someday.”

Tracey gasped, eyes wide, and bounced excitedly on her knees, pink snowpants rustling as she moved. “Are those the people who find dinosaur bones?”

“Yes,” Blaine said, before Kurt could destroy the hopes and dreams of a five-year-old. “Of course! You would be the best bone-finder in the whole world.”

“I know,” Tracey said, and went back to her castle, readjusting the ornament she had stolen from the tree to place on top of it.

In that moment, despite the cold and damp and aching and lack of a hat, Kurt couldn’t help thinking that life was close to perfect.


	3. Day Three: Collapse

At one A.M., Kurt’s phone rang.

Waking up to this sound wasn’t unusual; he turned up his volume before he went to sleep every night, in case Blaine called. Kurt had been over the moon when Blaine was offered the opportunity to perform on Broadway, but as a result, he was rarely home until late, after Kurt was already in bed, and he would jump on any chance he got to talk to his husband. He rolled over onto the cold side of the bed, relishing in the distinct  _ Blaine _ scent of his sleeping space, and squinted at the brightness of his screen, which displayed a number he’d never seen before. He took a brief moment to clear his throat and pray that the caller wasn’t trying to sell him anything, then answered the phone, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Hello? Yeah, this is Kurt . . . yeah, Anderson-Hummel, it’s hyphenated . . .  _ yes _ he’s the guy on Broadway, we’re married, I--what? What happened? Where is he?” With each passing second that the voice droned on, his chest tightened more and more, until it hurt to breathe. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor, gasping at the sensation of the cold hardwood on his bare feet, and started getting dressed with the phone still glued to his ear. “Is he okay? Yeah, I--I’ll be right there--thank you.” 

Hailing a cab proved to be nearly impossible at this hour--not because they weren’t operating, but because they were all being used--and each yellow car flashing by and leaving him on the street corner for another thirty seconds only served to heighten his anxiety. He wanted to call his parents, but they were asleep, and besides, he didn’t know if he would be able to maintain his composure if he did. When all was said and done, it took him a half hour to travel a route that would normally take him ten, and all he could do was sit in the backseat of the cab and pray that nothing bad had happened. 

The hospital was a maze of hallways and waiting rooms, identical doors leading to different destinations. By the time he found the right desk to check in at, he was tired, frustrated, and half-choked with scared tears that he refused to cry. “I--I’m looking for Blaine Anderson-Hummel,” he said, burying his shaking hands in his pockets, only daring to look up when he was sure there were no visible tears in his eyes. 

“Of course, sweetie,” the nurse behind the desk said, her tone soothing and motherly. She was middle-aged, mousy hair tied into a loose bun on top of her head, eyes warm and friendly. She reminded Kurt of his own mother, or what fuzzy memories remained of her. Somehow, it managed to release the knot in his chest enough for him to breathe. “He’s been asking for you.”

“He’s awake? On the phone, they said⸺”

“He did collapse right before he left the theater tonight, and an ambulance brought him here, but it was just a case of severe dehydration and the good news is that he’s completely fine. In fact, I’ve heard that he’s going to be released as soon as someone is able to bring him home.”

Kurt sagged forward against the counter, resting his head on his hands and breathing the sigh of relief he had been unable to conjure until now. “Thank God,” he whispered, the anxieties and speculations of the last hour fading out of his mind. “Thank God.”

“Kurt?”

Kurt’s head snapped up just as he was enveloped in a crushing hug, the kind that only happened during a reunion, when two halves of one person were put together again and the joy was nearly overwhelming. His arms went reflexively around his husband before he even knew it was him; their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces, Blaine’s head in the crook of Kurt’s shoulder, Kurt’s hands laced around Blaine’s back. They took a moment to breathe each other in, each of them sending up a silent thanks that they were together again, and broke apart with embarrassed throat clearing and red cheeks. Blaine may have been on Broadway, but neither of them liked an audience peering into their private lives. 

“I thought you--Jesus, Blaine, I was so scared, they said that you⸺”

“I’m fine, but I’m so sorry, I wasn’t thinking, and I didn’t mean to worry you, and I love you.”

“I love you too, but never do that again.”

“I mean, I don’t plan on it, but⸺”

“Blaine. Promise me.”

Smiling, Blaine took his hand, interlacing their fingers in a familiar way that set Kurt’s mind at rest and his heart racing with excitement and happiness. “Okay,” he said. “I promise. Now let’s go home, before pictures of me without stage makeup leak onto the internet.”


	4. Day Four: Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I would literally die for college!klaine so here's a little glimpse into what I picture that like.

“So let me get this straight,” said Kurt, folding himself cross-legged onto the floor of Blaine’s dorm room. “You have a bottle of champagne.”

“I do.”

“And every time someone wears the Santa hat, we drink?”

Blaine inspected the corner of the TV to make sure the red-and-white hat was still perched at the perfect angle. “Yep.”

“And every time, we drink, you and I . . .?”

“We kiss,” Blaine finished, cheeks rosy from shyness or alcohol or both. Kurt and Blaine’s relationship was brand-new, barely a month old, and he didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it. But when Kurt showed up to every college party looking like he’d just stepped off a magazine cover and Blaine received constant encouragement from his friends, well, it was a little hard to resist rushing things. “Is that okay?”

From the floor, somehow looking beautiful even in a room filled with the stench of alcohol and heat of too many bodies in too small a space (Kurt, Blaine, Rachel, Sam, and the thing that was MikeandTina just barely fit inside), Kurt shrugged delicately and pointed a questioning eyebrow at the room. “If it’s okay with everybody else. I wouldn’t want to be that couple that grosses everyone out with their PDA.” He cast a pointed look at Tina and Mike, who were snuggled on Blaine’s bed with their noses touching, but they just as pointedly ignored him. 

“It’s fine with me,” Sam said. “I’m already half-drunk, so I probably won’t remember a lot of this tomorrow.”

“Not surprising,” Kurt noted, though his tone was joking. “Rachel?”

“Well, duh,” she said without hesitation. “I only worked to get you guys together for, like,  _ three months _ . I would hate my efforts to go to waste.”

“All right, it’s settled then,” said Blaine, sinking into the spot on the carpet beside Kurt and turning so he was facing the TV and not the graphic displays of  _ couple _ that were happening behind him. He turned the TV on, retrieved the bottle of champagne from its spot next to him, and let the cork fly across the room with a satisfying  _ pop _ . “Let the games begin!”

Six people wore the Santa hat.

Kurt and Blaine kissed twenty-three times.

And the next morning, Sam didn’t remember any of it.


	5. Day Five - Example

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which blaine finds an ugly shirt and kurt has to show him how fashion is done

“Oh, my  _ God _ , get back in the closet.”

Blaine huffed from his place across the room, the single overhead bulb from his closet casting a dim halo around his untamed curly hair, and arched a thick, challenging eyebrow at his boyfriend. “That was a poor choice of words,” he noted, leaning against the wall so he could cross his legs at the ankles. Clearly, he wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon.

Which was unfortunate, since his outfit was so atrocious Kurt could hardly stand to look at him.

“You know what I meant,” said Kurt, waving off Blaine’s mock-offended tone and trying to keep his focus on the issue at hand. He readjusted himself on their unmade bed so his legs were folded beneath him and sighed. “Sweetie, I love you, but I can’t be seen in public with you dressed like that.” 

“Why not? I know I’ve made some bold fashion choices before, but so have you! This look is . . . out there, but it’s gonna be iconic someday! I’m a trendsetter, you know.”

“You are, just . . . not with that.”

Blaine scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I’d love to see you pull off this outfit better than I do, mister sweater-dress.”

“It was a phase!” Kurt protested, cheeks tinting pink at the mention of his early high school years. He jumped up off the bed in an attempt to shake off the images forming in his mind and crossed the room to pull at Blaine’s shirt--a combination of electric blue and hot pink folded into a button-up/sweater combination that made Kurt’s eyes burn. “Give me the shirt. You and I both know that I can make  _ anything _ work. I’ll be an example for all future aspiring fashionistas.”

Laughing under his breath, Blaine pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to Kurt, who clutched it to his chest with a sly smirk and took his sweet time sauntering to the bathroom to put it on.

“You know you can change out here,” Blaine said through the door, sounding more than a little disappointed. “I’ve seen a lot more than your chest before.”

“No way,” Kurt called back, grinning even as he slipped the flagrant shirt over his head. “I have to see how amazing I look in it first.”

“Okay, well, hurry it up, will you? We’ve got places to be, you know--you  _ jerk _ ! You actually, honest-to-god, pull off that shirt!” Blaine, standing in the middle of the room and now dressed in a much more suitable pink-and-white checkered shirt, gaped with his dress shoes held in his hands and his hair in even more chaos than it had been.

“Of course I do,” Kurt said, smoothing out a wrinkle in the front of the shirt and trying not to react to how much it hurt his eyes to do so. “And if you seriously thought it was a good fashion choice, you wouldn’t be so surprised right now.”

“I . . .” Blaine sighed. “The lady at the store may have said some things that convinced me it was better than it was.”

Kurt nodded in understanding and crossed the room to wrap an arm around Blaine’s shoulders. “I know,” he said soothingly, half-mocking, half-serious. “Those ladies are notorious for their pressuring. I have eight sequinned tops in my closet to testify to that. But now . . .” Smiling, he pulled on his shoes (plain black boots, which would do the least amount of damage with the state of his current wardrobe) and grabbed Blaine’s hand, pulling him toward the door and doing everything in his power not to look down. “You and I have to go show these basic New Yorkers how it’s done.”


	6. Day Six: Fraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which blaine and kurt rediscover what they mean to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got really long and out of hand so I apologize in advance!

Something was wrong with Blaine.

Kurt knew something was wrong because of three things: one, Blaine’s clothes lay in a pitiful mess around the floor when they would normally be piled neatly on top of each other in the hamper; two, the soundtrack of  _ Les Misérables _ vibrated through Kurt’s bones as he approached the bathroom, where he could hear the shower running; and three, there was a half-eaten cronut on the bed.

Kurt knew that Blaine struggled with his body image as a side-effect of his depression--after all, it had come close to destroying their relationship, not so long ago--but with medication and therapy, he had started believing that the issue had gone away, or at least become dormant. There were occasional flares like this, where Blaine hated himself and Kurt tried as hard as he could to convince him he was worthy of time and affection, but Kurt hadn’t seen one this bad since a few weeks before their wedding three years ago.

He also knew that confronting Blaine was a very precarious and specific process, one that required a lot of time, patience, and perseverance. The first step was to eliminate the music, to let Blaine know he was home and also to keep the couple in the apartment next door from filing a noise complaint. He switched off the speaker that Blaine had connected to his phone, cutting off the singer mid-note, then picked up Blaine’s clothes and placed them where they belonged, how they would have been under normal circumstances. 

The next step was to wait.

The shower turned off five minutes later, and it took another ten for Blaine to emerge into the bedroom, curly hair falling damply over his forehead, dressed in an oversized T-shirt Kurt had never seen before and flannel pajama pants Kurt wouldn’t be caught dead in. He observed Kurt almost blankly, with the stare that was all too familiar--memories of nights spent wide awake, holding Blaine while he cried, reassuring him that everything was going to be all right, came flooding back in an instant, sending a dizzy rush through Kurt’s head. Slowly, hardly daring to make a move for fear of upsetting him, Kurt pat the spot on the bed next to him. “We need to talk,” he said.

“Nothing to say,” said Blaine, and Kurt’s heart sank as he realized that this wasn’t just a bad day at work. It was something more, something that both of them prayed would stop happening, and yet it continued. 

“Are you sure?” Kurt asked, gently, gently, not wanting to push too hard. “You look like you could use someone to talk to right now. What happened today?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened today.”

“Blaine, I can’t help you figure this out if you won’t tell me anything. I love you more than anything, but it’s hard to support you when we can’t even talk about what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong!” Blaine shouted, and this, the sudden flashes of irritation and anger, was another common symptom of a depressive episode. “What do you want me to say, Kurt? Everything’s wrong? It’s not, because I have you, and my family, and my job, but--it just--I feel like nothing matters. Everything’s wrong because I’m letting everybody down, especially you! Like, what am I even doing with my life? A music teacher, who--who  _ does _ that? I barely make any money, and I come home and watch musicals and eat, and then I feel horrible about myself but I keep doing it, and do you know why? It’s because my whole life is  _ pointless _ , and I can’t fix it, so I might as well quit while I’m still a little bit ahead.”

“Sweetie, no,” Kurt muttered, sorrowful tears brimming in his eyes. He indicated the spot on the bed again and this time Blaine came to him, sinking down with a blank expression and a destroyed sigh. “I don’t ever want you to think that. When I married you, it wasn’t because you could sing, or because you had a nice smile, or because you were my first love and the first boy who ever loved me back. I married you because I knew, from day one, that you were literally my other half. Everything I’m doing now, with  _ Vogue _ and the beginning of productions for that stupid musical, is because of  _ you _ . If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know who I was or what I was doing. I love you for so many reasons, Blaine. I love all the good things about you, and I love all the sad things and the bad things and the things you feel like you can’t tell me. I love them, because I love you, and I am so proud to say that I get to be your husband.”

“I just . . .” Blaine sniffed and wiped at his eyes, then lay so his head was in Kurt’s lap, long eyelashes fluttering down to rest on the tops of his cheeks. “I’ve always felt that way, too, like we’re--like you and I are two halves of the same person, but I’ve been getting this feeling lately that I’m the worse half, and I’m just keeping you from reaching your full potential.”

“Of course you’re not,” said Kurt, half-shocked, half-saddened by the sincerity of his words. “Blaine, you’ve  _ pushed _ me to reach my full potential. From the very beginning, through everything, I’ve been better with you. We complete each other, and we love each other, and that’s all we need. You didn’t sing that sappy Beatles song to me at Dalton just so you could doubt what we have and how incredible you are.”

Finally, Blaine laughed a little, and Kurt could see the sun peeking through the dark clouds at last. “I love you,” he whispered, and reached up to interlace his fingers with Kurt’s. “Never let me go.”

“Never,” said Kurt, every ounce of his feelings packed behind the single word. Whatever else he needed to say, Blaine heard it, and he understood it, and the uphill climb became a little easier to bear. “I promise.”


	7. Day Seven: Genuine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which blaine asks kurt to marry him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're just going to pretend for now that Dalton didn't burn to the ground, for my own selfish headcanon purposes ;) i'm really excited about this part of klaine's story and i'm super glad to finally share this idea that's been swirling around in my head for months.

“We should get married.”

Blaine says it casually, like he would say “we should go see a movie tonight” or “we should buy some new shoes.” He continues scrolling through his phone without so much as looking up to gauge Kurt’s reaction, which is shocked speechless, and shows no sign of joking. He only looks up after several long, uncomfortable moments of silence, in which Kurt breathes through his open mouth in pure astonishment and Blaine texts Mercedes about a poinsettia. Finally meeting Kurt’s wide gaze, he arches a thick eyebrow and cradles his phone in his lap, hands closing around the device and almost completely hiding it from view. “What?”

“We--we’re already married,” Kurt says incredulously, glancing down at his hand to make sure the ring is still there and he hasn’t been imagining the past two years. “Do you happen to remember a day when two of our best friends were getting married, and somehow we got invited to crash their ceremony after we  _ literally _ just got back together? Because, I don’t know, I figured it would be kind of a memorable day, and⸺”

“That’s my whole  _ point _ ,” Blaine says, sitting up straight and taking Kurt’s hands in his own, eyes blazing with passion. “That day was the best day of my life, don’t get me wrong, but it was  _ crazy _ . It was absolutely, undeniably insane, every part of it, and it wasn’t planned, you know? None of it was. We didn’t get to have a wedding in a big church⸺”

“I hate churches.”

“Or on a boat dock, or in some obscure botanical garden somewhere,” Blaine continues, determined to follow this through to the end. “We got married, but it wasn’t originally our  _ day _ . And, I don’t know, I guess I just feel a little . . . cheated by that.”

Kurt pulls away fractionally, so their fingers strain to maintain a connection, tilting his body away from Blaine’s to keep himself at bay while his mind struggles to catch up to his mouth. “Where are you going with this?”

Blaine sighs and rakes his free hand through his hair, interrupting the smooth, gelled effect and sending a patch of hair sticking up in the wrong direction. Kurt finds it adorable. “What I’m trying to say is that our wedding was amazing, and I will never, ever regret it or want to undo it for even a second, but I’ve been thinking.”

“About what? I mean, Blaine, we have a marriage license. We’ve been married for two years. I don’t think there’s a whole lot of discussion to be had here.”

“Okay, but there  _ is _ !” Blaine protests, standing to pace around the room, hands flailing wildly as he tries to express his excitement. “I want to give you the whole world, Kurt, and I know this is stupid because we already had our shot at a wedding, but I’ve always wanted to have a ceremony just for us, you know? When I asked you to marry me the first time, at Dalton, I wasn’t exactly picturing a last-second wedding at a ceremony that didn’t even belong to us in the first place. And I know that marriage isn’t about the fancy things, or the big party, or whatever--it’s about so much more than that--but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t dream about having all of those things, and I’ve always wanted to give them to you.”

“Well, yeah, I wanted that,” Kurt says slowly, not quite finding the point. “But I got you, and you mean a lot more to me than some stupid, fancy ceremony. What matters is that we’re together now, and nothing is ever going to break us apart. That’s what we promised that day, no matter if it was the day we planned to or not.”

Blaine shakes his head in frustration, absentmindedly snapping his fingers to try and invent a more straightforward way of saying the words he needs. “We should have another wedding,” he says, making eye contact and not looking away, reassuring that there’s true meaning behind his idea. “But this time, it would just be for you and me. Like, obviously, we can’t  _ legally _ get married twice, but it could be like a repeat, except without the double-wedding thing. It would be like renewing our vows, but on a way bigger scale.”

“You’ve piqued my interest,” says Kurt, leaning forward on the loveseat and propping his elbows on his knees. “Now tell me, what does this plan of yours include?”

“Well,” Blaine replies, smirk forming on his face, “I’m glad you asked, because I’ve been planning this wedding in my head since I was eight years old.”

“Sounds fascinating,” Kurt says, Blaine’s smile infecting him as well. “Please, go on.”

“Okay, well, first off, it would have to be big, but not so big that it’s obnoxious,” Blaine says, showing the size of the wedding with his arms spread out to his sides. “The colors would be purple and gold, because  _ come on _ , who doesn’t like that combination, and the flowers would have to be some sort of soft, natural thing, like wildflowers, maybe? But they couldn’t look too fake. Can we import them straight from Ohio? Would they survive a car ride up here? I’m sure if we asked nicely, your dad would bring us some wildflowers.”

“Blaine. Focus.”

“Right. Um, we would need all our friends from glee to be there, because we’re cheesy like that, but they don’t get to sing during the ceremony, because you and I will be performing a duet of  _ Come What May _ , like we always talked about. Can you still handle that song?”

Kurt swats at Blaine’s arm playfully, smiling when his husband jumps away laughing, and wonders, as he often does, what he did to deserve this man in front of him. “Of course I can,” he says. “I can’t believe you would doubt my abilities after all these years.”

Pause. Tense breath. “You know I’m kidding, right?”

“Yes, Blaine.”

“Good. Okay. After all of what I just said, you can literally change any of it if you want to, but there is one thing that I really want to insist on, and that’s the location. I want to re-marry you in the same place where all of this began, all those years ago. I’ve always wanted a ceremony at Dalton, Kurt, and I think it would be really, really cool if⸺”

“Blaine.” Kurt stands and crosses the room to where his husband stands, looping his arms around Blaine’s neck and smiling softly as he leans in to whisper in his ear, his warm breath trailing down Blaine’s neck and sending a shiver up his spine. “Stop.”

“What?” Blaine’s tone is injured, in a sort of unfamiliar, fresh hurt that makes Kurt’s heart ache with shared emotion. “I thought you would go for this idea,” he says, in a last-ditch effort to make his plan come together. “I thought it was something you would want as much as I do⸺”

“Sweetie, you had me at ‘purple,’” says Kurt, laughing, and pulls Blaine in for a kiss that would be considered graphic if they were in public. When they finally break apart, both gasping for air and grinning like a pair of fools, there is an unspoken promise between them. It’s something that doesn’t need to be said aloud; after all their time spent with each other, loving each other, they no longer need to communicate with words. They promise to keep each other safe, to love each other unconditionally, and to offer unfailing support and encouragement, no matter what the future holds. It’s a promise that they have made over and over, and have proven that they’re willing to keep. It has no words, but somehow, it holds more meaning than anything they could ever speak. 

“Let’s start planning the Anderson-Hummel Wedding, 2.0,” Blaine says.

Kurt wrinkles his nose and laughs, reaching out to spin Blaine’s wedding ring around his finger. “We are  _ so _ coming up with a different name for that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this got very out of hand and i'm not even sure it fit the prompt very well but i had fun writing it and i hope you enjoyed reading!


	8. Day Eight: Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurt and blaine watch a baby being born.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried to be a little creative with the prompt today, but i'm not completely sure how it worked out. i like it, though, so i hope you do too!:)

_ 2009 _

“This is disgusting,” Kurt muttered, scooting his desk closer to Mercedes’ as the lights in the classroom dimmed and the video started. “I can’t believe we have to watch this!”

Mercedes rolled her eyes, but she was smiling; when it came to Kurt, nothing could make her truly angry. “This is health class, Hummel,” she whispered. “It’s part of the curriculum. Besides, it might come in handy someday if you ever have to see the real thing.”

“I’m gay,” Kurt reminded her in a low voice, though no one was paying attention to them tucked into the back corner of the classroom. “I don’t plan on seeing a woman give  _ birth _ , okay? I sort of have a thing about blood, and other . . .” His eyes widened as he caught a glimpse of the TV screen and he turned away, gagging slightly as he tried to focus on a piece of lint on the floor, anything to keep his mind off the horrors he had just witnessed. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m never going to see that in real life.”

Mercedes laughed under her breath and reached over to rub soothing circles into Kurt’s back. “Whatever you say, Kurt,” she said. “Whatever you say.”

 

_ 2020 _

“Just breathe . . . that’s it, in and out, just keep breathing, you’re doing great, sweetie . . . Kurt, what are you  _ doing _ ?”

“I’m trying not to vomit, Blaine!” Kurt shouted through the open door, feet tucked under his thighs as he leaned over the toilet in the tiny hospital bathroom. “You know I can’t handle--that--stuff!” Each word was accentuated by a quick, panicked breath, and he closed his eyes, praying for the queasiness to subside. 

“That’s kind of immature, don’t you think? We’re about to have a  _ baby _ !”

“Unless you want me to throw up all over the bed, I’d stop complaining if I were you!”

“Yeah, well, if you could stop acting like a  _ kid _ for a second⸺”

“Will both of you  _ shut up _ ?!” Rachel screamed from the bed. Her hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat, eyebrows drawn together in more intense pain than Kurt had ever seen. One hand was holding Jesse’s and the other grasped Blaine’s as she grit her teeth, fighting not to cry out. “I can kick you out of here in thirty seconds.”

“We’re the parents⸺” Kurt protested, standing up as quickly as he could without losing his stomach. 

“Kurt, sweetie, shut up and get over here,” said Blaine, leaning closer to the bed as Jesse attempted, in vain, to calm down his wife. “Rachel is being a very good friend right now, and if you want to keep her as one, you need to come here and close your eyes, or something.”

From the doorway of the bathroom, Kurt sighed heavily and took a moment to regain his composure. “Fine.”

 

“She’s so beautiful,” Kurt breathed, running his fingertip across his new daughter’s tightly closed fist. “And she’s  _ ours _ . Jesus, Blaine, we’re  _ parents _ , and she’s healthy and beautiful and  _ ours _ .”

“I know,” Blaine whispered, neither of them willing to make too much noise and risking waking up either the baby or Rachel. As labors went, it had been a desirable one, with no complications and an Epidural halfway through that served to make Rachel’s attitude much more positive. The event had still tired everyone out, though, and after several hours of celebrating and crying and adoring the new baby, Blaine and Kurt were left the only two awake in the cramped hospital room. “I don’t think this feeling is ever gonna go away, like . . . like she’s my everything. I mean, obviously, you’re everything, but . . .”

“I know what you mean. It’s like there was room in my soul for a third person and I didn’t even know it until she was born.”

“God, we’re the luckiest guys in New York,” said Blaine. He smiled softly, then, and slid his chair across the floor to be closer to the tiny newborn. “I bet you never thought you would see a live birth, huh?”

Kurt gasped and stood up so fast his chair almost toppled behind him, saved only by Blaine’s quick reflexes and desperation to keep everyone else asleep. “ _ Damn it _ ,” he whispered, shaking his head as a reluctant smile crept across his lips.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, sitting up straight in his chair. “Why are you smiling? Are you okay?”

 “Mercedes was right!” said Kurt, shaking his head in disbelief and chuckling as the memory of that day started coming back to him. “Way back in sophomore year health class . . .” He opened his phone and scrolled to his text conversation with Mercedes, which went on for years; she was one person, at least, that he would never lose touch with. 

_ Watched rachel have a baby today, _ he texted.  _ I think i owe you ten dollars. _

The reply came thirty seconds later, even in the middle of the night:  _ congrats, k <3 all the best! _

 

_ also i’m expecting $20 in my next birthday card ;) love you! _


	9. Day Nine: Inch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurt comes home in the middle of the night with a surprise for blaine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This got really long and kind of out of hand, but I really enjoyed writing it, so let me know what you think in the comments!

The light flicked on at three A.M.

Blaine considered ignoring it and pretending he was still sleeping; maybe if he tried hard enough, he could still salvage some rest. He was debating whether or not to open his eyes when he heard Kurt’s voice at the foot of the bed:

“Promise you won’t get mad at me.”

Instantly, Blaine was wide awake. He bolted upright and opened his eyes, squinting for a moment as the light assaulted his eyes and Kurt came into a blurry half-focus in front of him. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand and slid them on, trying to get a sense of how Kurt was feeling. 

The only expressions on his husband’s face were guilt and shame, broadcasted and obvious and undeniable. Blaine’s heart dropped to his feet and his throat tightened so suddenly and harshly that it was hard to breathe. “What--what happened?” he rasped, voice scratchy from sleep and dehydration. “What did you do? And why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”

“I need you to promise me first that you won’t . . . freak out,” said Kurt, staring down at his hands and refusing to make eye contact. “Don’t start yelling, or anything. It might take some adjusting, but I really want you to see this as a good thing.”

_ Oh my god oh my god he cheated on me he’s divorcing me he found somebody else _ , Blaine’s mind chanted, in a vicious loop that wouldn’t let up no matter how hard he tried to throw it out of his mind. “Okay,” he said cautiously, leaning forward on the bed until he was half-kneeling, heels tucked beneath his thighs. “I won’t.”

Kurt blew out a breath and shook his head, preparing himself to deliver a piece of news with unknown consequences. “Okay,” he said, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides and still not looking up at Blaine. “So you know how we talked that one time about tattoos, and which kinds are classy, and which kinds are completely trashy or cliche?”

“What?” This, compared to what Blaine had been imagining Kurt to say, was so random and unexpected that it caught him off guard. “I mean--yeah, I remember it, but I don’t know what that has to do with this conversation.”

“Well, do you remember the rules we made about getting tattoos after the whole Bette Midler incident?” Kurt reached back to touch his shoulder absentmindedly, where a drunk night and encouragement from a friend had made its permanent mark on him. 

“Sure,” Blaine said slowly, still trying to wrap his head around the turn the conversation had taken. “No faces, no lower back tattoos, no names⸺”

“And no tattoos more than an inch tall,” Kurt finished, unable to wait for his husband’s sleep-slowed brain to finish listing them. “Yeah. Well. I, um, broke three of those rules tonight.”

“ _ What? _ ” Blaine demanded, mind racing with all the deformed face tattoos he had seen in Facebook videos and the horror stories of misspelled names in obvious places. “Kurt, what did you do?”

“You promised not to get mad,” he reminded him, then took a step closer to the foot of the bed, biting his lip as he considered how graphic to get with the details of the truth. “So, you know I had to work late tonight, but I ended up working late-late, and by the time I finally got out of there, I was  _ beat _ .”

“Understandable, but get to the point, please,” said Blaine, chewing on his fingernail even though he knew he shouldn’t. He’d been trying to break the habit ever since he and Kurt had a two-hour long fight over it. 

Kurt sighed, his face a mask of pained embarrassment, and crossed his arms over his chest. “Okay. On the way home, I was really tired, and crabby because  _ nothing _ went right today, and I was considering just quitting my job and moving to Antarctica and never speaking to anyone again, but then I started thinking. And I realized that I didn’t want to move to Antarctica, because, one, it’s  _ fucking _ cold there, but more importantly . . . you.”

“Me?”

“You’re the thing that keeps me going,” said Kurt. “Whenever I have a rough day at work, or I’m lonely when you’re out promoting your next Broadway show, I can just think that I get to be with you for the rest of my life, and then it doesn’t seem so bad. And that’s the way I felt tonight.”

“And?”

“Let me finish,” Kurt snapped, but his eyes were amused. “ _ And _ I went to the tattoo place⸺”

“Was it the Bette Midler place?”

“I told you to let me finish, and it doesn’t really matter, but yes⸺”

_ “Kurt! _ ”

“Would you let me talk for a minute?”

Silence. “Sorry. Go on.”

“Okay. So anyway, I went to the tattoo place, and I didn’t really know what I was doing there, but I thought,  _ hey, why don’t I be ambitious and fun and sweet for once _ ? And I wanted to get something to remind me of you, but I couldn’t think of any symbol or word that would represent you. And you know there’s a policy at work about not showing tattoos, so I figured I needed a good place to hide it . . . and as for the size thing, that was just a mistake on my part. So please don’t get mad.”

“Oh, my  _ God _ ,” Blaine breathed, eyes widening in horror. “Did you get my  _ face _ tattooed on your back? Oh, God, please don’t tell me⸺”

“No!” Kurt said quickly, face wrinkling in disgust. “I wouldn’t break  _ that _ rule. And if I were going to get someone’s face tattooed on my body, well, it probably wouldn’t be yours.”

“Hey!”  
“ _Anyway_ ,” said Kurt, and turned around to show him his tattoo.

_ Blaine _ scrawled out in bold cursive across the bottom of Kurt’s back, looping and neat and beautiful in a reluctant kind of way. Their anniversary--not their wedding date, the day they met at Dalton all those years ago, which Kurt had always thought was more important--was printed beneath it in tiny, fragile script, not a detail missed or a dot of ink smudged. Tears, unexpected and somewhat annoying, sprung to Blaine’s eyes, and he blinked quickly to drive them away. As much as he preached about following the “tattoo rules”, he couldn’t be caught being _ touched _ by Kurt breaking three of the four. 

“What do you think?” Kurt asked, still facing the opposite direction. His voice shook slightly, like he was expecting the worst and wanted to get this part over with. “Are you mad?”

“No,” Blaine said without hesitation, hoping that no traces of crying remained in his voice. “I’m not--wait a minute, does that say  _ plain _ ?”

“ _ What _ ?!” Kurt twisted back and forth in a vain attempt to see his own back, gasping as he imagined the worst-case scenario. “Oh my God, I’m gonna go back to that place and  _ kill _ that guy! I wasn’t even drunk this time, it wasn’t my fault⸺”

“I’m just kidding,” said Blaine, laughing so hard tears were streaming down his face and his mouth hurt from smiling. “You  _ totally _ believed me! That was perfect.”

Kurt picked up a pillow and threw it at Blaine, pouting and locating a mirror to make sure he wasn’t being lied to. “That was cruel,” he said, shaking his head and sighing in relief when the actual tattoo came into view. 

“You deserved it,” said Blaine, swiping under his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. “You broke  _ three _ of the tattoo rules! We spent  _ hours _ on those! If we’re just going to throw them out the window, I wonder if Quinn still has the number for the guy who did her Ryan Seacrest tattoo . . .”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I wouldn’t. I love you, Kurt.”

Kurt turned around and smiled, relieved and still a little embarrassed. “I love you, too.”


	10. Day Ten: Judgment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which blaine knows just what to do to make kurt feel better.

The bedroom was freezing, like someone had left the window open overnight and the chill had seeped into the walls, permeating every part of the small room until not even a heater and a courageous pile of blankets could fight against it. It was in stark contrast with how Kurt felt on the inside; it was like he was burning up, melting from the inside, his bones and skin turning to dust until there was nothing left of him but a memory⸺

“Hey.” A touch on his arm. He turned, the movement taking more effort than he liked it to, and stared up into Blaine’s eyes, and he suddenly wasn’t burning anymore. Whatever he needed, Blaine gave it to him, even if he didn’t realize he was doing it. It was one of the thousands of things Kurt loved about him, but he couldn’t bring himself to form the words to say it aloud.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked, sliding into the bed beside Kurt and laying his head in the space between his shoulder and his neck. “Baby, you’re starting to worry me. You’ve been like this--sad, tired, not talking to me--ever since the appointment, ever since we found out⸺”

“Don’t say it,” Kurt whispered, mouth thinning into a tight frown. “I don’t need the reminder right now, okay? I just--I need to pretend it’s not happening for a little while longer.”

“Why?” Blaine demanded. “Kurt, you have nothing to be ashamed or scared of. Mental illness sucks, I know, but⸺”

“Don’t call it that.  _ Jesus _ . You make it sound like I’m horribly diseased, or something.”

Wounded, Blaine pulled back and sat up on the bed, curling up in his corner of the bed and leaving Kurt cold and alone. “Is it really that terrible?” he asked. “I mean, you talk a big game about supporting people with mental illness, about supporting  _ me _ , but apparently that was just you pretending, too.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt protested, shocked enough to sit up himself and face his husband. He hadn’t been aware of the effect his words would have until he’d said them, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt Blaine. “Of course not. I love you no matter what, depression or not--you know that, Blaine. I just--God, why is this so hard to say? It’s stupid, anyway. Forget it.”

“No, Kurt,” said Blaine, and his voice was firm but his eyes belied the panic and concern he was feeling. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you torture yourself anymore. I thought that going to the doctor and getting a real diagnosis would help, but you’ve been worse than ever since that appointment. Is it the label? Sometimes it’s hard to hear that you really have a problem, but OCD isn’t anything that can’t be helped⸺”

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave me,” Kurt shouted, and burst into tears.

“Oh, God,” Blaine whispered, pulling him closer and blinking away his own tears. “I . . . you have to know that I would never do that, Kurt. Not in a million years. Not over something like this, something that you can’t help.”

“You say that now, but--if therapy or meds don’t work, I--I’m scared that you’re going to judge me, and I can’t live with that.,” Kurt hiccupped, unable to stop hyperventilating. 

“Never,” Blaine promised, rubbing soothing circles into his back. “I will never judge you for this, do you hear me? Never. If treatment doesn’t work out for you, that’s fine, and do you know why?”

Sniffing, Kurt chanced a look up at his husband’s face and shook his head. 

“It’s because I love you, silly,” said Blaine. “I love you unconditionally. I love your hair, and your eyes, and your mouth, and your beautiful smile, and your sparkling personality⸺”

“I get it,” Kurt muttered. “You don’t have to make me feel good.”

“I’m not finished,” Blaine protested, smirking despite the gravity of the situation. “I love your incredible taste and ability to pull off literally any outfit on the planet.”

Kurt offered a watery smile and a choked half-laugh. “Well, obviously.”

“I love the way you sing, and your handwriting, and the way you make me breakfast on Sundays to make up for all the times I did it for you before you dumped me.”

“You moved out before I dumped you, technically,” said Kurt, “but continue.”

“I love your Bette Midler tattoo, and your terrible jokes, and how you support me through everything, and I love your OCD.”

Kurt winced. “The list was fine until now. You don’t have to lie to make me feel better, Blaine, really. I’m not going to sit here and say that I’m in love with the fact that you have depression--it makes me sad to see you go through that. I’m still in love with you, but . . . Oh.”

“That’s how I feel about you,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hands in his. “Exactly like that. It sucks that you’re not at a hundred percent mentally right now, but it doesn’t mean I love you any less or I’m going to judge you for hitting a rough patch.” He sighed and bit his lip, trying to decide what to say next. “Do you believe me?”

There was a pause as Kurt considered the question. He knew that Blaine would never lie to him, especially not about things like this, but there was still an irrational part of his brain screaming that, in a few months, he would be divorced and alone. He was going to lose the one thing that meant the most to him in the world.

“Kurt.” 

“Yeah?”

“Do you believe me?”

This was it. This was the turning point, where a decision was made, where trust was built up or torn down, where happiness was restored or destroyed. The pressure, combined with an overwhelming need to get out of the bed and make it, was enough to drive Kurt almost crazy. 

He leaned forward and kissed Blaine, hard, and when he sat back, he felt better, like the voices inside him, the ones that insisted that he was going to be alone or that he was broken, had been silenced by contact. It was maybe the best feeling in the world.

Kurt said, “Yes.”


	11. Day Eleven: Key

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which blaine writes a song at four a.m.

“ _ It’s in the wrong key _ !”

The moment Kurt was aware he was awake, he was aware that it was far too early to be

awake. Opening his eyes was a slow and agonizing process, and squinting to see the time on the alarm clock without his glasses or contacts required much more effort than he wanted it to.

_ 4:23 AM _ .

“Blaine, honey, what are you doing?” he called, making no move to get up. “It’s late. Come to bed!”

Muffled swearing and the clank of several piano keys drifted into the bedroom, and then the faint reply: “In a minute! I’m . . . almost done?” The last part was more of a question than a statement, and Kurt sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting any more sleep until Blaine decided he was finished. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and groaned as his feet made contact with the hardwood, grumbling about musicians’ insane schedules under his breath as he shrugged on a robe, and wandered into the living room, where Blaine was hunched over the piano with bedhead and a pencil clutched so hard in his hand Kurt was afraid it might break.

“Hey,” he said, and Blaine looked up at him, and smiled a tired smile, and even in Kurt’s half-asleep, half-blind state it was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. “What are you doing up?”

“Well, you know that song I wrote for Sam and Mercedes’ wedding next weekend?”

“Yeah.”

“And how I was going to write the piano accompaniment for it today?”

“Mhm.” Kurt perched himself on the ottoman facing the piano bench and stretched his arms over his head, yawning. “It sounded great at about eight thirty, before I was trying to sleep.”

Blaine grimaced. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

Kurt shrugged, lifting one corner of his mouth in a half-smile. “It’s okay,” he said. “I would rather stay up and talk to you, anyway. So, what’s the issue?”

“Well, I wrote the entire fucking thing--which is three pages long, Kurt,  _ three pages _ \--and then I figured out that I was so tired and distracted that I wrote it in the wrong key. The words and the piano don’t match! I have to switch over the entire thing, which doesn’t take  _ that _ long, but⸺”

“You’re not doing that tonight,” Kurt said firmly, suppressing another yawn. He glanced at the clock above the piano; he had three hours before he had to be at work. “You’re going to sleep, because you look like you’ll die soon if you don’t get some rest, and in the morning you’re going to go to work with an entire pot of coffee and you’re not going to  _ touch _ this music until you get home and take a nap.”

“Ha-ha, very funny--oh, come on, Kurt! I’ll be done in twenty minutes, tops! I’ll be fine for work, I promise. What difference is twenty minutes gonna make?”

“I’m sure that’s what you said four hours ago,” said Kurt, standing and extending his hand toward his husband. “Give me the pencil.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re crabby when you’re tired?”

“Yes, and I’m also smart, and right. Give me the pencil.”

Blaine frowned and gave it up with a sigh, watching with forlorn eyes as Kurt tucked it into the pocket of his robe. “I was almost done,” he protested again, but cut himself off when Kurt raised a challenging eyebrow, daring Blaine to test his limits. “Fine,” he grumbled, standing and gasping when his back and neck cracked, stiff from sitting in one place for so long. “God, I’m sore.”

Kurt rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, and he held out his hand for Blaine to take, which he did, relaxing once their fingers were interlocked. “That’s because you’ve been working on that song for twelve hours, sweetie,” he said, leading them back toward the bedroom and narrowly missing the doorway, invisible to him in his overly tired state. “Now be quiet and go to sleep before I lose it.”

Once they were both safely in bed, the piano finally silent, Kurt breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed into his husband, allowing himself to drift back toward sleep for the little time he had before another day started.

“Hey, Kurt?”

Kurt groaned internally and bit back a snappy comment, focusing on the many great things about Blaine rather than the one or two things that made Kurt want to rip his hair out. “Yeah?”

“Should I change the key of the piano, or the key of the lyrics?”

“Go to sleep, Blaine.”

Blaine sighed, defeated, from the other side of the bed and moved closer to Kurt so their bodies were pressed together, chest to back, legs intertwined. “Okay. But you’ll help me with it in the morning, right?”

In the dark, as sleep finally came back to him, Kurt smiled. “Of course.”


	12. Day Twelve: Limited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which kurt makes an unexpected purchase.

 

“Kurt, would you like to explain why there’s a two hundred dollar charge on the emergency credit card? From what I can tell, there was no emergency.”

Kurt shrugged and smiled sheepishly, subtly tucking the book he was reading under the blanket with him. It wasn’t like he could argue with Blaine’s statement; there had been no emergency, and he had spent the past three days while Blaine had been gone for a show in Los Angeles snuggled in the bed, not moving for hours at a time. “It was more of an  _ opportunity _ ,” he said, making no move to get out of bed or welcome Blaine to join him. “You know, a sort of once-in-a-lifetime type thing. I’ll pay this off as soon as I can, I promise.”

“I still don’t know what  _ this _ is,” Blaine reminded him, arching an eyebrow as his gaze wandered the room, searching for anything new or out-of-place that might have appeared while he was gone. “Kurt, what did you buy with two hundred dollars? It must have been a pretty huge opportunity.”

“Well,” Kurt said, laughing nervously, “that’s a funny story, actually. So you know how I have that nasty habit of sleep-shopping sometimes?”

Blaine turned to his husband, mouth half-open, and stared. “Oh, for the love of God,” he moaned. “I thought we agreed that the laptop got shut off and put in the kitchen when you went to sleep. After last time⸺”

“Oh, will you let that  _ go _ already?” Kurt demanded, laughing. “It was only forty dollars that time!”

“Yeah, for a  _ fake _ Justin Bieber signature. On a poster of Zac Efron’s face. How do you even  _ find  _ these things? You know what, nevermind. I don’t even wanna know what you bought, okay? Just--just return it.”

“It’s, um, a little late for that,” Kurt muttered, dropping his eyes to the blanket, embarrassed. “I sort of already opened it.”

“ _ Kurt _ ! You’re killing me, here. We don’t  _ keep _ the stuff you sleep-buy, especially not stuff that costs  _ two hundred dollars _ ! I can’t leave you alone for two minutes.”

“Yeah, well,” said Kurt, shrugging and unapologetic. “It was limited-edition.”

“ _ What _ was? I--Kurt, what’s under the blanket?”

Kurt’s movement had shifted the blanket enough to reveal the outline of several objects beneath it, some taller than others, but all in the same general shape, rectangular and suspiciously uniform. He started fumbling with the blanket again, struggling to cover his mistake, but the damage was already done; Blaine was onto the truth.

“Are those  _ books _ ?” He approached the bed and tugged the blanket down to the foot of it, ignoring Kurt’s complaints as the chill air made contact with his bare arms and feet. He couldn’t help but laugh, incredulous and shocked, as he saw what was underneath it. “ _ Harry Potter _ ? I didn’t even know you read these!”

“I didn’t,” Kurt said, his thumb still stuck in the middle of the third book to hold his place. “But they were limited-edition! Look, they came in a chest!” He gestured weakly to the other side of the bed, where there was indeed a brown chest the perfect size to contain all seven novels. “And it turns out they’re a really good read.”

Blaine sighed and shook his head, crossing to the other side of the bed so he could crawl in beside Kurt, careful not to disturb the books lying around them. “Well, they’d better be, if you used the emergency credit card on them.”

“I was asleep!”

“You still opened them.”

Kurt sighed. “Touche.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“I just got home from California and I’m tired and crabby. Read to me.”

“No way! I’m on the third book already. You’re not gonna get it.”

“I’ve read these books, like, eight times, Kurt. I think I’ll catch on.”

“Seriously?”

“Blame Cooper. He was obsessed.”

Blaine felt Kurt’s laugh more than he heard it, like it had been surprised out of him and it was more movement than sound. It traveled through his shoulder and into his bones, and he decided that he never wanted it to stop. “I’m still at the beginning, anyway,” Kurt said. “I guess I could start over for you.”

“See? This is why I married you. You’re so thoughtful.”

Kurt sighed in content and reached to hold Blaine’s hand, propping the book open on his knees. “Are you sure you’re not mad about the credit card thing?”

Blaine considered for a second, then shook his head, adjusting his position to lay his head on Kurt’s shoulder. “No,” he said, laughing softly. “It was limited-edition. How could I be mad?”

There was a pause, where Kurt swallowed and then sniffed and then laughed, like he had just caught onto a joke that was no longer funny, the sound half-choked and awkward but still amused. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Blaine, closing his eyes against the shine of the lamp illuminating the pages of the book. “Just get reading.”

Without looking, he knew that Kurt was smiling, and he shifted in the bed as he turned the book to be at the best angle in his lap. “” _ Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways, _ ”” he began, his voice soft and soothing, erasing all the stresses of Blaine’s day in an instant. “” _ For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year . . . _ ””

Within moments, Blaine was asleep, and that night, he dreamed of what his childhood would have been like with Kurt in it alongside him.


End file.
